Across the curtain of reality and reverie lies a garden untouched by time, where flowers bloom with luminescence and foliage whispers secrets of forgotten realms. Here, lay the forgotten instruments of elemental transformation — tools shaped by reverence, polished by riddles and laughter echoing from buttery sunlit clouds.
Beware not the storm's roar, for the skies emote in hues invisible to the waking eye. Amongst the entangled vines, discoveries await sporadically, seldom used but unmistakably vibrant in their melancholic intrusion.
Glistening under the weep of dew, the copper trowel rests — an artefact to tickle the earth; kinetic magics ripple from its spade as secrets rise in lazy curls of mist. Twine forgotten amidst ivy's embrace, spun without end a purpose unknown, yet binds with passage faintly whispered stories told at dusk.
The wind catcher — a fleeting confection of woven wishes and laughter lost long ago — now strains under the cool caress, capturing airy fragments to dance in astral light and shadow plays. Its purpose veiled, only known to cerulean dreams wrapped round the night’s azure fabric.
I remember the scent of lumina mist, swirling beyond reach breath of cedar’s cry. An ephemeral grasp of light caught in memory’s transient canvas; true harvest of enchanted gardens lives only in the longing pause of a celestial dream.